


Heartstrings

by bluepyjamas



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Guitars, Healing, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:21:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23353867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluepyjamas/pseuds/bluepyjamas
Summary: In which Bucky realizes he's pretty human too.
Kudos: 4





	Heartstrings

It started when he hears the first few notes of an acoustic guitar, immediately accompanied by a male voice humming along. Bucky recognizes it as one of the songs that’s played so often from the speakers and turns to see Martha’s son swaying gently to himself as he sings under his breath, the rich sounds of the strings a comforting background track. 

Colt looks up to find Bucky staring intently at his fingers and grins, unashamed to be caught lost in his music. “Cherry Wine,” he supplies, “You like? I added it to the playlist, y'know, I think you’ve heard it before.”

Bucky nods blankly, and if his confusion shows on his face Colt doesn’t show that he notices. Instead, he continues plucking the strings and singing his song. Bucky puts the plate he’s drying onto the rack and grabs a seat at a vacated table, content to just sit and watch for a while. He observes how Colt’s fingers rearrange to form different shapes and dart across the neck of the guitar. For a blissful few moments the diner is mostly silent save for the music, and Bucky’s hands itch to feel the vibration of strings under his fingertips. 

“You wanna try?” Colt prompts, startling him out of his reverie. 

Before he can stop himself, Bucky nods and Colt beams at him. “I can teach you if you’d like. I can lend you one of my guitars, they’re just sitting there anyway.”

“Sounds good,” Bucky croaks, heartbeat thumping a tattoo in his chest at the thought of making those nice sounds himself.

The guitar that he’s given a week later has definitely seen better days, what with the inordinate number of stickers and marker scribbles strewn across the wood. Colt rubs the back of his neck sheepishly and tells him that his other guitars are a bit too expensive to risk damaging, and Bucky doesn’t mind. After all, not even he himself is truly aware of exactly how much damage he can deal with his metal arm, though he’s definitely got better with controlling the strength of his grip than half a year ago. 

Their first lesson goes well, if not rather uneventful to Bucky. Colt goes through the names of the strings with him and tells him to practice plucking the strings with his right hand one finger at a time. “Chords are easy; it’s fingerstyle that’s really tricky. You’ll be good with most songs if you can do that.” He says, and Bucky briefly entertains the idea of making enough progress to start learning a song he likes. He’s not sure if he really wants to sing along though, he’s never really had the voice for it. He voices this concern to Colt who dismisses it with a wave of his hand. “A lot of people do it, it’s not a problem. Plus I sing enough for both of us anyways,” he adds with a little laugh and Bucky finds himself agreeing. Colt has a nice singing voice, if not particularly remarkable. Bucky thinks he can definitely handle more ‘not particularly remarkable’ in his life right now.

Before Colt leaves, he lets Bucky feel the calluses on the pads of his fingers, and for a moment Bucky laments that he can’t have some of his own. There’s something distinctly human about having this sort of injury, how the skin reddens and swells but toughens over time, the person having them tirelessly inflicting pain on the same patch of skin over and over again just to play a few crisp notes. Made indestructible only after being worn down indefinite times, fueled by nothing but raw passion and determination. A glimpse of blond hair and blue eyes flashes before his eyes, but they’re gone as soon as they come.

It becomes routine – wake up, go to the diner, finish his shift, play around the guitar, practice with the drills Colt printed out for him. He welcomes the weight of the instrument in his hands - it’s meant to be handled gently, to be carefully unzipped from its case and propped up against the wall so that the tuning knobs don’t get messed up. As the body of the guitar itself vibrates with the strings, the part of his torso in contact with the guitar tingles along with it, and the feeling spreads across his limbs until he feels like his whole body is vibrating too. The raw sensations that come with playing the guitar make him feel just as good as hearing its music does - both of them remind him that he’s just as vulnerable as the normal person to physical sensations, that his heart still knows to handle good things gently and skip a beat when he hears a tune that he likes.

At one point he brings the guitar down to the diner and Martha watches him keenly as he fiddles with it during his lunch break. She seems happy to see him do something other than cooking and washing dishes, though she looks less thrilled about the state of his instrument. “He has so many nice ones that he blows his cash on and he gives you this one,” she says, shaking her head, “I’ll talk to him, have him give you a better one-”

“No, it’s fine!” Bucky blurts out, “I like this one. I mean, it works fine. It’s okay.”

Martha raises a skeptical eyebrow but thankfully drops the subject.

Bucky’s not sure what makes this guitar so special to him. It probably holds some sentimental value to Colt – he spots random signatures and quotes scribbled on the body, silly insults that he can tell are lovingly written by friends. Though battered, it sounds fine. He supposes he could just be projecting and treasuring tattered things that were once loved and now cast aside. Anyway, after a few tweaks made by Colt when Bucky accidentally knocks his hand into the tuning knobs, it works like it’s new.

That is, until it doesn’t.

Bucky’s made progress, this week he’s practicing chords and is attempting barre chords when it happens.

It’s probably because he didn’t register the pressure with which he presses his metal fingers. The fretboard gives a menacing creak before snapping into two with a deafening crack, wood splinters showering onto the floor.

Bucky immediately freezes, already awaiting the inevitable lashing. He thinks of that time he dropped a dish when a car honked outside and shocked him out of his thoughts, only now this means so much more. Martha had quietly assured him it was okay and had cleaned up the mess without a word, but Colt is different and he knows he’ll never be able to make it up to him. 

Colt lets out an exhale. “Wow,” he breathes.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“Hey it’s okay, you kind of did warn me at the beginning.” Colt shrugs. 

“Still, it’s your guitar and I broke it. I don’t think you can fix it like this.”

“It’s not your fault, you couldn’t have helped it. And have you seen it? Something like this is bound to happen anyways, it’s so old. I’m surprised it managed to hold up for so long.”

Bucky’s still unsettled as he brushes wood dust off his jeans and sweeps up the mess. Colt bends to gently put the cleanly broken off pieces back into the case, mindful of the jagged edges of wood. Despite his kind words earlier, Bucky catches the wistful glances Colt gives what remains of his guitar and his heart lurches with an urge to scream and tear his hair out. 

The next day, Martha doesn’t blink an eye when she doesn’t hear his daily practice sessions during lunch. Bucky’s sure she knows something happened and is trying not to make a big deal about it. His chest hurts with breaths he longs to exhale, though he’s sure if he lets himself go he’ll break down - don’t they see how badly he fits in this world, how he can’t even control his own strength and end up ruining something?

Bucky’s already accepted that he’ll no longer be allowed anywhere near Colt’s collection again. Much to his surprise, Colt shows up the same time the next week carrying a guitar case he’s never seen before. He opens it to reveal a second guitar that he hands Bucky, who has no time to question whether it’s one of Colt’s expensive ones before Colt beats him to the punch and starts talking about power chords and picks. He gives it a few strums and is instantly surprised – the new one has a substantially richer timbre, and the fading notes resonate pleasantly in the still air of his apartment.

He hugs the instrument closer to his chest and tries not to cry. 

At a loss for what to do to show his gratitude, he finds himself wandering into the music store that he’s taken to frequent in recent months. He likes how it’s small and cozy-looking, with soft cushions at the corner for those who want to hang out for a while. He’s taken to bringing a book with him every time he goes there, and the girl at the counter always brings him a piping hot cup of tea when he loses himself in his book. Sometimes she sits and reads with him when she’s not busy stacking CDs; Bucky finds that he doesn’t really mind the company.

The pop song from the speakers washes over him as he steps foot into the store, the bells on the door jingling merrily behind him. Lorraine looks up from her phone and flashes him a smile. 

“Hey Bucky,” she greets. “How can I help you today?”

“Um, are there any songs on the guitar that are on the easier side?”

“I’ve got happy birthday,” she offers. Bucky shudders and she laughs.

“God no, please. I want songs that people actually listen to.”

“How about some classics? People made a lot of easier versions to them and they honestly sound just as good as the original.”

Bucky contemplates it for a long moment. On one hand, he wants to impress Colt with songs that he knows. But Colt deserves so much more than quick and easy with minimum effort - Bucky really wants him to know how much he appreciates everything he and Martha have done for him.

Then all of a sudden it becomes crystal clear to him.

“Cherry Wine,” he decides.

“That’s like a light year away from the easier side,” Lorraine immediately says. 

“I want to learn it,” Bucky replies firmly, “It’s the least I can do.”

Lorraine regards him for a long time, her brown eyes searching into his. Eventually she turns away to disappear into the back of the store and returns a few minutes later with a few printed sheets and a small object wrapped in plastic packaging. She presses the items into his hand and tells him not to worry about the money.

“Hey, I can’t let you do this-” Bucky protests.

“Please, you’ll have a lot more to worry about once you get started on this song,” Lorraine insists. Then her voice softens and she lays a hand on his arm, the metal glinting under the lighting of the store. “Just take it, okay? And let me hear you play when you’re done.” 

Bucky swallows the lump in his throat. “Thank you,” he mumbles, gripping the sheets tighter in his hand.

Lorraine gives him a small smile. “Don’t mention it. Now, shoo,” she replies. With that, she gives him a firm push and Bucky finds himself herded out of the store, the bells once again jingling as the door slides shut.

Later that day, he has a brief look at the sheets before setting them onto his bedside table and unwrapping the little object. The packaging falls away to reveal a wooden capo - it’s not fancy, but it looks functional and most importantly of all, Cherry Wine requires a capo on the sixth fret. 

Bucky wonders what he ever did to deserve this. 

Now with renewed vigor and a clear goal, he dives into his lessons with Colt, who looks even more determined to push him to learn. At the end of each lesson he’s left with his arms aching with how long he holds his arms in position, and his flesh fingers are tingling with the remnant vibrations of the strings. And in those moments he swears he’s never felt more alive.

In his spare time, he tries to make sense of Cherry Wine which, frankly, is kicking his ass - Lorraine wasn’t kidding when she said it wasn’t easy. Bucky can barely handle melody in one hand, let alone both that and a steady bassline with the same hand. He makes a few more trips to the store where Lorraine, despite only knowing the basics of the guitar, helps him figure out how to establish a steady rhythm. He forces himself to practice keeping up the rhythm in his thumb, even practices the movements of his fingers when his hands are nowhere near his guitar. Martha throws him concerned glances when he starts drumming his fingers absentmindedly against the table, but he can’t bring himself to stop. The process of learning something brand new, watching himself fail and try again, is both humbling and encouraging. Apparently he can wield a knife with his hands so well he can kill someone with it in twenty different ways, but he can’t play a song he likes on his guitar.

He gets better, though, and one day manages to finish the whole first verse and chorus without messing up even once. Elated, he ponders running to the store and showing Lorraine, but then decides against it. He’ll wait until he can surprise her and Colt both; it’ll probably be a nice sight to see.

The opportunity to do so presents itself in the form of Colt’s birthday a few weeks later, at a small party thrown at the diner by Martha. To call it a party is probably an overstatement, considering the fact that it’s just dinner consisting of Colt’s favourite dishes and a homemade cake. But Martha tells him to invite people if he wants to so that her food doesn’t go to waste, so he asks Lorraine to come over. Turns out, she and Colt have already met, and they exchange banter full of phrases that Bucky’s aware are references but hasn’t come around to find out what they mean.

“You’re seriously surprised we don’t know each other?” Lorraine asks around a mouthful of rice, “Come on, I’m the only store here that sells the stuff he likes and he’s not much older than me, we have a lot in common.”

“Yeah Bucky, get on with the times,” Colt smirks. Bucky ducks his head, embarrassed that he hadn’t made the connection sooner but also secretly happy that they feel comfortable enough around him to tease him a bit.

After dinner comes a ten minute break in which everyone lies back and groan because they’ve eaten so much. Or, at least, everyone except Bucky, who’s vibrating out of his seat with nerves. He’s about to show them something that he’s pored over for weeks now, and his heart is about to leap out of his throat. He’s only got the first part of the song down, and still it doesn’t sound as good as when Colt played it. What if he ends up not liking it?

Martha stands up to get the cake. Bucky hurriedly makes a hand motion signalling for her to sit back down. “Wait,” he says quietly, and goes to retrieve his guitar. He feels their eyes on him, probably wondering what the hell he can be up to now. When Colt’s gaze lands on the case in his hands, his eyebrows go upwards. Lorraine barely manages to suppress her lips from tugging upwards.

“I, uh, learned a song. For you,” he says awkwardly, “It’s not much, but I really hope you enjoy it.”

He struggles a bit to fit the capo on because his hands are shaking, but he manages to do it. He allows a few deep breaths before he settles his fingers into their rightful positions and begins to play.

It goes perfectly, probably because Bucky’s never been so damn concentrated on the minute errors in the placement of his fingers and the pressure he applies with them. He only realizes that it’s over when his ears stop ringing with the lingering notes in the air and everyone else has gone silent.

“Wow,” is the first thing that tumbles out of Colt’s lips. His grin stretches from ear to ear, and he looks like he’s trying not to beam with pride but failing. “You really went off and learned it without me? I feel betrayed, I was the one who introduced you to it, y’know.”

“Colton!” Martha slaps a hand against the back of Colt’s head but she’s smiling and Lorraine’s got a wide grin on her face too. All three of them are watching him intently and he suddenly feels like he can’t breathe, but in a good way. His chest tightens, he sets his guitar to the side and is unable to stop the smile spreading across his lips.

“You like it?” he asks.

Colt scoffs, but his misty eyes betray the fondness he feels. “I mean, I probably did a better job at it, but yours wasn’t bad,” he shrugs nonchalantly, earning himself a jab in the ribs from Lorraine. 

Bucky knows enough to tell that Colt means he loves it.

They cut the cake and eat it, then Colt gets tipsy and snatches the guitar and starts playing love songs and dramatically belting out the lyrics to them. Lorraine laughs and sings along, nowhere as intoxicated but happy to join in the fun. Martha takes too many pictures on her phone and watches them all with a content expression on her face.

And for the first time since he stumbled into the diner and was welcomed by the same open arms, Bucky feels something tug in his chest. What he once thought was impossible is now right here in front of his eyes - being surrounded by people he feels good with, music under his fingertips, joy a pleasant sweetness in the air.

Maybe he’s better at being normal than he thought he was.


End file.
